
Book. _..J3-3_j_£ 



POEMS, 



FRANCES ELIZABETH BROWNE. 



1 
1883, 

CAMBRIDGE: 
METCALF AND COMPANY, 



PRINTERS TO THE UNIVERSITY. 
M DCCC XLVI. 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1S46, by 

Frances Elizabeth Browne, 

in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 
STANZAS SUGGESTED BY A VIEW OF BOSTON FROM THE 

CUPOLA OF THE STATE-HOUSE .... 1 

ON THE STORMY PETREL ....... 5 

MOUNT AUBURN 9 

ON PROTESTANT UNION IN NEW ENGLAND . . 12 

ON THE ABOLITION OF SLAVERY IN THE UNITED STATES 15 

ON THE DEATH OF MY MOTHER .... 18 

uN MUSIC 21 

BRAY HEAD, WICKLOW 23 

ON THE VISION OF ST. JOHN 26 

1 MENDE HONORABLE ...... 29 

LUES TO A FRIEND 31 

THE MISSIONARY ...... 33 

5 1TAPH ON A FAVORITE DOG 35 , 

ON THE TIMES IN ENGLAND 37 ' 

ODE TO POESY 42 

ON THE MELANCHOLY DEATH OF LIEUTENANT HALSTED 44 l/ 

PAIN AND PLEASURE ,47 

ON SEEING SOME CHILDREN BLOWING BUBBLES . L 49 

THE WAGER ..51 

TO THE MEMORY OF WILLIAM SHENSTONE . . 53 / 

HAWARDEN HEYS . .56 ? / 

THE SOUVENIR . . 58 * 

A SKETCH 60 

ON READING LORD BYROn's LINES ON THE DEATH OF 

henry kirke white ..... 62 * 

l'inconstant 64 

self-examination 66 

lines to a friend, on receiving some ivory tablets 68 

on the death of a young lady .... 69 

lines for an album 71 



CONTENTS. 



A 
| 0] 



TO A YOUNG LADY DURING SICKNESS 

SCENE AFTER A HURRICANE 

ON THE DEATH OF THE DOWAGER LADY POWERSCOURT 

METRICAL LETTER TO MISS N .... 

ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY .... 
SKETCH OF CONNEMARA 



ON THE BAPTISM OF AN INFANT .... 

^TO A FRIEND, FOR CHRISTMAS DAY .... 

Y A CAMBRIAN TOUR 

ON THE BIRTH OF AN INFANT ..... 

v ' LINES SUGGESTED BY THE PARLIAMENTARY GRANT FOR 

THE IMPROVEMENT OF THE SHANNON . 
; TO A FRIEND, ON HIS LEAVING ENGLAND FOR SOUTH 

AMERICA 

j TO ANNIE 

, AN ACROSTIC 

HYMN 

fON COLONIAL SLAVERY 



FONTSTOWN 



' TO A FRIEND, ON GOING ABROAD 
TO MRS. G. W. 



t ON THE ANNIVERSARY OF MY BIRTHDAY 
ON THE DEATH OF AN INFANT 

t| HOPE 

ON THE LETTER O 

TO A YOUNG LADY .... 
LINES TO AN OLD LADY 
\ THE THREE AGES OF HUMAN LIFE . 
,, THOUGHTS ON A MOONLIGHT NIGHT 

LINES TO 

j'life 

, ON POETRY 

\ SIBYLLINE CARDS 

ON THE MIRACLE AT MOUNT HOREB 
LINES TO AN OLD SCHOOL-FELLOW 
TO A FRIEND ON HER BIRTHDAY 



73 

75 
79 
82 
84 
86 
89 
91 
93 
96 

98 



102 
104 
106 
108 
110 
112 
115 
116 
119 
125 
127 
129 
131 
132 
134 
136 
138 
140 
143 
146 
149 
151 
154 



POEMS. 



STANZAS 

SUGGESTED BY A VIEW OF BOSTON FROM THE CUPOLA OF 
THE STATE-HOUSE. 



From Albion's isle I come, 

I was born on a foreign strand, 

Yet I love the Pilgrims' home, 

And am proud on this spot to stand. 

O, much did I long to see 

The scenes of their bright career, — 
Of the good, the brave, the free, — 

Of their toils and their triumphs here ! 

1 



STANZAS. 



Canadian shores I 've viewed, 

I have sailed on St. Lawrence' tide, 

On Quebec's fair plains I 've stood, 
Where our British hero died. 

But theirs was a brighter crown 

Than earth's highest honors yield, — 

A victory harder won 

Than the fame of the proudest field. 

They scaled not the dangerous height 
Of a fort or a castle's brow, 

But they gained heaven's regions bright 
By virtue's steps below. 

Their path was more dark and steep 
Than Wolfe's daring footsteps trod, 

But it led o'er the stormy deep 
To freedom, and fame, and God. 

They fought not with bomb or shell, 
Artillery's dreadful rage, 



STANZAS. 



Yet Satan's empire fell, 

And with sin fierce war they wage. 

The sword of the word of God 

They bore to a distant land ; 
Where no Christian's foot had trod 

They stood, a patriot band. 

Their country was not of earth, — 
As pilgrims they lived and moved ; 

They rejoiced in their heavenly birth, 
And they spoke of the land they loved. 

They told the poor Indian, lost 

In ignorance dark as night, 
Of the price his redemption had cost, — 

Of Jesus, and heaven, and light. 

They taught him that Jesus' command 

Was that wars and contentions should cease ; 

That his symbol in every land 

Was the olive-branch, whispering peace. 



STANZAS. 

Americans ! ye who delight 

In the fame of these heroes of old, 

Beware how their precepts ye slight, — 
More precious than silver or gold. 

Let freedom to worship your God, 

Let peace, by your fathers bequeathed, 

Your triumph at home and abroad, 

Round your star-spangled banner be wreathed ! 



ON THE STORMY PETREL, 

CALLED BY SAILORS MOTHER CAREY'S CHICKENS. 



Bird of untiring wing, 
Whence dost thou come ? 

Bird of deep mystery, 
Where is thy home ? 

On the broad ocean wave 

How canst thou rest ? 
Where dost thou roost at night ? 

Where build thy nest ? 

Land is too far from thee 

On every side, 
Thousands of miles away, 

Over the tide. 



ON THE STORMY PETREL. 

Yet dost thou carelessly 

Sport o'er the wave, 
Fearless of finding 

A watery grave I 

When the storm rages, 
And tempests beat high, 

Still on the crests 

Of the billows you fly ; 

Sportively, joyously, 
Dart through the foam, 

Still seem delighted 
O'er ocean to roam. 

Bird of three elements, 

Air, water, earth, 
Where dost thou rear thy young ? 

Where hail their birth ? 

Is it on some lonely 
Rock in the sea, 



ON THE STORMY PETREL. 

Where human hand or foot 
Never may be ? 

Dost thou from such lone spot 

Launch o'er the flood, 
Bringing along with thee 

Thy youthful brood ? — 

Over the deep, deep sea 

Like thee to fly, 
Like thee to bring their young, 

Flutter, — and die ? 

Bird of existence brief, 

Man is like thee, 
Launching he knows not where, 

O'er a wide sea ; 

Tossed on the billows 
Of life's stormy wave, 

Restless as thou 

Till he sinks in the grave ; 



ON THE STORMY PETREL. 

But not like thee, poor bird, 

Never to rise ! 
Soon on the wings 

Of the spirit he flies, — 

Soars through eternal space, 
Ransomed and blest, — 

Mounts to heaven's utmost height 
There is his rest. 






MOUNT AUBURN. 



Sweet Auburn ! which with verdure and with 

bloom 
Adorns the precincts of the darksome tomb, 
Divests the grave of half its dread array, 
Plants living flowers upon the lifeless clay, 
Hallows the memory of the cherished dead, 
And turns to balmy dews the tears we shed, 
Accept a tribute from a stranger's pen, 
Meet resting-place of brave and pious men ! 

There marble monument and sculptured bust 
Seem to reanimate the silent dust, 
Give to each grave a voice, whose thrilling tone 
The sorrowing hearts of friends and kindred own ! 



10 MOUNT AUBURN. 

Imagination revels in the scene, 
And fills with fancied forms each alley green, — 
Hears Channing preach with eloquence divine, ■ 
Spurzheim philosophy's wise precepts join, — 
Heroes address their friends in martial strains, 
Tell them of Bunker's Hill and battle-plains ; 
Others, who braved the dangers of the sea, 
To serve their country and preserve it free, 
The spangled banner o'er the waves unfurled, 
The naval bulwarks of the Western world, 
Now safely landed on a peaceful shore, 
Where wars no longer rage, nor billows roar, 
Still hovering round, may angel wings expand, 
Be guardian spirits of their native land. 

But see where yonder little cherub lies, 
As if sweet sleep had gently closed her eyes ! 
One beauteous foot across the other thrown, 
Calm she reclines, in infant grace, alone. 
While gazing on that face so sweet and mild, 
The parents still may dream they have a child ; 
For she, alas ! so deeply cherished here, 
She was their only one, — thus doubly dear ! 



MOUNT AUBURN. 11 

Nor scorn we to appropriate a place 

To yonder emblem of the canine race ; 

But honored still for ages yet to come, 

The faithful dog here guards his master's tomb ! 

In sculptured stone immortalized is he, — 

A noble tribute to fidelity ! 

Beside the friends in life he loved to guard, 

In death he gains this justly earned reward. 

Bright resting-place of faithful hearts and true, 
Auburn ! New England's pride and boast, adieu ! 



12 



ON PROTESTANT UNION IN NEW ENGLAND. 



Down the rapid stream of time, 
Lo ! another year has passed; 

Protestants from every clime, 

Brethren, friends, awake at last ! 

Have we not a mystic tie 

Strong as aught on earth can be, 
Changeless as heaven's azure sky, 

Lasting as eternity ? 

Rome's proud zealots boldly join, 
Strong their union 'gainst the cause. 



ON PROTESTANT UNION IN NEW ENGLAND. 13 

Satan's agents all combine 

To oppose Christ's holy laws ! 

Brethren of a purer faith, 

Shall we not join heart and hand, 

And a bond as strong as death 
Unite us in a foreign land ? 

Brethren of this hallowed soil, 
Which our mutual fathers trod, 

Here reposed from earth's turmoil, 
Founded here a house for God, 

Will ye not, with friendly clasp, 
Greet the sons of other lands, — 

With the warm fraternal grasp 

Which our common faith demands ? 

Yes ! ye will ! our fathers yet 

Look down upon their foreign home, 

And see their sons together meet, 

No more from freedom's land to roam. 



14 ON PROTESTANT UNION IN NEW ENGLAND. 

The shamrock, rose, and thistle still 
Shall flourish in Columbia's soil, 

And triumph o'er all foes, until 
Millennium rest o'erpays their toil*. 



15 



ON THE ABOLITION OF SLAVERY IN THE 
UNITED STATES. 



From the fair realms of Britain a stranger I came 
To the land which exults in great Washington's 

name, 
To the land disenthralled by free patriot hearts, 
To the land to which freedom such glory imparts, 

To the land where the rights of all men are re- 
spected, 
Where its rulers and statesmen are freely elected, 
Where no proud aristocracy ever can sway, 
And no people on earth are unshackled as they ! 



16 ON THE ABOLITION OF SLAVERY 

How, then, can your star-spangled banner still wave 
(While such freedom ye boast) o'er the head of a 

slave, — 
O'er the head of a slave — aye, of millions — as free 
By nature's true birthright, heaven's mandate, as 

thee ? 

Born under your flag, on Columbia's soil, 

Yet born to dark slavery, fetters, and toil, 

O, the sun of the South darts a soul-sickening ray 

Which withers the heart's best affections away ! 

Not so in your keen, bracing air of the North, 
Where the first germs of liberty nobly burst forth ! 
In the soil which it loved the tree flourishes still, 
And a soul-healing balm its sweet flowers distil. 

When the red cross of Britain unfolds to the 

breeze, 
The manacled captive fair liberty sees ; 
O England, my country ! this glory is thine, — 
Round Victoria's sceptre no fetters entwine. 



IN THE UNITED STATES. 17 

Americans ! freemen ! how long will ye bear 
That your brethren the dark badge of slavery wear? 
O, wipe from your standard this stain on its bright- 
ness, 
And undimmed be its lustre, unsullied its whiteness ! 



18 



ON THE DEATH OF MY MOTHER. 



My gourd is withered ! — she is gone 

Who most could wake my hopes and fears, 

Of all beloved the dearest one, 

The dearest from my earliest years. 

My mother ! O, on that loved name 
How oft will fond remembrance dwell ! 

Earth ne'er can know a tenderer claim, — 
A mother's fondness who can tell ? 

With what a sweet, seraphic smile 
Her mild, her gentle spirit fled, 



ON THE DEATH OF MY MOTHER. 19 

So much like life, that for a while 
We scarcely could believe her dead. 

So calm she looked, her lips apart 

Appeared as if about to move, 
Some fond memento to impart, 

Some parting token of her love. 

Yet, mother, would thy mourning child 
(Could she) recall thee here below, 

Though then she cried, with anguish wild, 
" Spare me, O God, this trial " ? — No. 

In mercy thou wert but removed 

From sorrows yet to come, and woe; 

And, fondly as thou wert beloved, 
That very love would answer, No. 

Farewell, dear mother ! thou art blest; 

Thou slumberest with the peaceful dead; 
And oft thy child, with grief opprest, 

Would lay by thine her weary head. 



20 ON THE DEATH OF MY MOTHER. 

Farewell, till in a happier sphere, 

When earthly sorrows grieve no more, 

They whom the grave has severed here 
Heaven's opening portals shall restore. 



21 



ON MUSIC. 



Music, soother of the soul ! 

Purest balm to mortals given ! 
Passion bows to thy control, 

Thy sweet strains partake of heaven. 

Thou canst cheer the wounded heart 
When depressed with earthly woes, 

Comfort gently canst impart, 
Wildest feelings calm compose. 

Joy wakes from thee a livelier strain; 

Mirth with thee delights to dwell, 
And, in sportive pleasure's reign, 

Lightly strikes the vocal shell. 



22 ON MUSIC. 

But all thy noblest powers are joined 
To emulate devotion's flame ; 

With strength and harmony combined, 
Be this thy proper end and aim. 

Seraphs golden harps employ 
To celebrate Jehovah's fame, 

While the harmonious choir on high 
Of spirits blest resound his name. 

When, in a melodious song, 

Earth echoes back the heavenly strains, 
Angels the dying notes prolong, 

Sweet music fills the ethereal plains. 



23 



BRAY HEAD, WICKLOW. 

TO MISS C. S. 



Dear Charlotte ! our ramble along the sea-shore, 
When Bray Head's fair prospects we sought to ex- 
plore, 

You beg me to give you in verse ; 
And, though no cold critics my lines may commend, 
I ever comply with the wish of a friend, 

And thus our adventures rehearse. 

'T was a bright, glowing day, in the dawn of the year, 
When the primrose and violets begin to appear, 

And Winter seems struggling with Spring ; 
This day the fair youth seemed the victory to gain, 
And dreary old Winter to give up his reign, 

And away his dark mantle to fling. 



24 BRAY HEAD, WICKLOW. 

The ail* was as mild as a morning in May, 
The sky was so bright, and the midges so gay, 

All nature appeared to rejoice ; 
The sea, and the waves, as they rolled on the 

land, 
And sparkled, and dashed the white spray on the 
strand, 
Seemed to echo the general voice ! 

But, though all above us was brilliant and fair, 
Though the sky was so clear, and so balmy the 
air, 
Yet some traces of winter we found; 
For when Bray's rugged headland we sought to 

ascend, 
On our most cautious footsteps we scarce could de- 
pend, 
From the damp, slippery state of the ground. 

But, mutually lending each other our aid, 
We the summit attained, and were fully repaid 
By the prospect which greeted our sight; 



BRAY HEAD, "VVICKLOW. 25 

Whilst below, 'midst the rocks, the sea eddied and 

boiled, 
With the roar as of cannon, and fruitlessly toiled, 
As the waters were chafed in their might. 

One false step, and our wanderings for ever were 

o'er, 
And earth's varied beauties would charm us no 
more, — 
We should sink in the chasm below ! 
From the fearful abyss, then, our eyes let us turn, 
To where Howth and yon miniature isle we discern, 
And the waters so peacefully flow. 

Perchance, my dear Charlotte, when hither you 

stray, 
When your friend may be far o'er these waters 
away, 
You may think of your wanderings here; 
And wherever that absent one's footsteps may rove, 
Yet Erin's sweet shores and kind friends she will 
love, — 
They will still be to memory dear. 



26 



ON THE VISION OF ST. JOHN, 

DURING HIS BANISHMENT TO THE ISLAND OF PATMOS. 



Thou, to whose favored view 

Heaven's portals open flew, 
And visions bright of glorious things were given ! 

Thou, to whose piercing ken, 

Unseen before of men, 
The Saviour oped the golden gates of heaven ! 

Beloved by Him whose love 

No change could ever move, — 
No, not the dazzling change from earth to heaven ! 

He to thy ravished sight 

Disclosed his glories bright, 
When, scorned by men, to exile thou wert driven. 



ON THE VISION OF ST. JOHN. 27 

Vain Caesar's vaunted power — 
Poor emperor of an hour ! — 

To banish thee from earthly courts of clay, 
When thy Almighty Friend, 
Before whom kings must bend, 

Could bear thee to the courts of heavenly day ! 

How mean thy purple robe, 

Proud tyrant of the globe, 
Would seem, contrasted with the brilliant sight 

Of Jesus' glorious state, 

And all who round him wait, 
Those countless hosts, arrayed in purest white ! 

And are there here a few 

To Jesus' precepts true, 
Who, scorned by men, are yet beloved by Heaven? 

A little flock there is, 

Designed for heavenly bliss, 
To whom Christ's love, to whom Christ's grace, is 
given. 



28 ON THE VISION OF ST. JOHN. 

John saw a countless band, 

From every clime and land, 
Redeemed from among men, heaven's presence fill; 

All clothed in robes of light, 

By Jesus' blood made white 
In Calvary's stream, that fountain open still. 

In Christian virtues fair, 

They Jesus' image bear, 
In spirit and in truth and heavenly love; 

Till, having left below 

All for his sake, they go 
To join the hosts of his redeemed above. 



29 



L'AMENDE HONORABLE. 



Accept the thanks which my poor pen affords, 
For the perusal of your charming pages; 

From a sick bed they '11 needs be burning words, 
But fear them not, no baleful sickness rages. 

Here, stretched at length, — I cannot say at ease, - 

Philosophizing over oatmeal-gruel, 
Like sick man in the fable, conscience sees 

Sins rise before me in array most cruel. 

Confession, then, and reparation too, 

The genuine symptoms of sincere repentance, 

I offer, Sir, unfeignedly, to you ! 

Sins against charity deserve this sentence. 



30 L'AMENDE HONORABLE. 

Forgive me, Sir, if my poor thoughtless Muse 
In harsh, unfriendly censures seemed to deal ; 

To pardon an offence you wont refuse, 

Which you, perchance, too sensitively feel. 

And surely, Sir, a mind like yours, imbued 
With sweet philosophy's delightful lore, 

Could never by such weakness be subdued, 
The guise of which your playful history wore. 

Nor could you, who so feelingly portray 
From nature's works the universal plan 

Of kindness and benevolence, betray 

The trust poor woman must repose in man ! 



31 



LINES TO A FRIEND, 



ON HIS COMPLAINING OF THE INSUFFICIENCY OF PHILOSO- 
PHY AS A SUPPORT TO THE MIND UNDER AFFLICTION, 
AND THAT HE MEANT TO SEEK THAT SUPPORT IN RE- 
LIGION AND THE SCRIPTURES. 



O, search the bright record, — let nothing restrain 
thee, — 
The earnest pursuit shall be crowned with suc- 
cess ! 
Let not earth, with its varied temptations, enchain 
thee, 
Seek Him who alone can life's pilgrimage bless ! 

Can Science true happiness ever bestow ? 

Will Philosophy prove from fate's arrows a shield, 



32 LINES TO A FRIEND. 

Or blunt the barbed shafts of affliction ? Ah, no ! 
Its impotent arm in the conflict must yield. 

Religion alone can the armor supply; 

The shield must be faith, and the spirit the sword, 
The breastplate of righteousness, — these may defy 

The world, in the name of a crucified Lord ! 

O, seek then that armor, — prayer ever obtains it, — 
The Saviour has promised, "Ask, it shall be 
given " ; 
That promise how sacred ! the Bible contains it ; 
He reigns who has made it in earth and in 
heaven. 

O, seek it in faith, with humility crave 

That wisdom which science can never supply, 
That comfort and peace which the world cannot 
give, 
Nor with which the world's treasures in value 
can vie. 



33 



THE MISSIONARY. 



Go, messenger from realms on high ! 

On wings of love thy mission bear; 
To earth's remotest regions fly, 

And plant thy sacred banner there. 

The red cross wave o'er Afric's sands, 
And bid her swarthy natives know 

Their great Creator's mild commands, 
And at the name of Jesus bow. 

The red cross wave o'er India's soil, 
O'er Ganges' waters raise it high; 

The Hindoo, worn with heat and toil, 
Shall to its grateful shadow fly. 
3 



34 THE MISSIONARY. 

The red cross wave where Buddha reigns, 

His idol temples overthrow; 
Soon shall it burst his iron chains, 

Though forged by Satan's host below. 

The red cross wave o'er Southern seas; 

Pacific, be thy islands blest ! 
Breathe soft, ye winds ! Heaven's favoring breeze, 

Speed gospel blessings to the West ! 

The red cross wave where Northern suns 

Scarce warm the earth, scarce melt the snow, — 

Where life's dull current feebly runs, 
Scarce felt is nature's genial glow. 

The red cross wave o'er land and sea, 
From north to south, from east to west; 

Let Father, Son, and Spirit be 

Through all earth's varied nations blest. 






35 



EPITAPH ON A FAVORITE DOG. 



Poor little dog ! thy span of life was short, 
Spent half in misery, and half in sport. 
Thy bark so joyous, and thy bound so light, 
Thy speed so swift, and thy dark eyes so bright, 
Thy puppy age so fondled and caressed, 
Thy lot appeared peculiarly blessed. 
Poor Tip ! disease attacked thy little frame, 
Anguish and pain scarce could thy spirits tame; 
But, wandering from thy home in evil hour, 
Thou wert exposed to persecution's power, 
Hunger and cold and cruelty combined. 
Home thou at length were brought, exhausted, 
blind. 



36 EPITAPH ON A FAVORITE DOG. 

We fed, and watched, and nursed thee for a while, 
And kindness did thy sufferings beguile, 
Until with health thy buoyant heart revived, 
Although, alas ! thy mirth was but shortlived; 
For, when accustomed to the loss of sight, 
Again thou gambolledst with renewed delight. 
Thy yet unconquerable wish to roam 
Impelled thee once again to quit thy home, 
And, blind and helpless, fall an easy prey 
To boys, who drowned thee for their cruel play. 



37 



ON THE TIMES IN ENGLAND. 



In such an age as this, such times as these, 

Marked by indulgence, luxury, and ease, 

Can truths, unvarnished truths, the power impart 

To touch the conscience, or to mend the heart ? 

Ah, Cowper ! but too plain didst thou foretell, 

And paint the coming evils but too well. 

Ah ! vainly didst thou warn ! — in vain deplore 

The ills which threatened England's favored shore. 

How, then, shall humble poets hope to wake 

An interest in themes all now forsake ? 

Yet subjects which involve our nation's fame 

May surely from her sons attention claim. 

In nations, as in individuals, wealth 

Seldom conduces to repose or health ; 



38 ON THE TIMES IN ENGLAND. 

As wealth and luxury are near allied, 
And luxury produces vice and pride. 
No happiness is found where virtue fails, 
Where folly and where arrogance prevails. 
Imperial Rome, the world's proud mistress, found 
The empire totter, fall, bowed to the ground, 
When wealth and luxury her senate filled; 
The state corrupted made her warriors yield; 
Enervate they, whose former well-earned fame 
So powerful, nations trembled at their name; 
They sunk in luxury's devouring flood, 
By rude barbarians saw their land subdued. 
Athens and Sparta both, in evil hour, 
Experienced luxury's destructive power. 
O, guard Britannia from the baleful draught, 
Which never without ruin can be quaffed ! 
Britons ! descendants of a glorious race 
Of heroes, patriots, statesmen ! O, erase 
Not from your souls the memory of your sires, 
But emulate the deeds their fame inspires ! 
Let not what should be blessings prove your bane; 
O, still the virtues of your sires retain ! 



ON THE TIMES IN ENGLAND. 39 

Let not, o'ercome by indolence and ease, • 

Slothful indulgence be the fruits of peace ; 

Let not prosperity produce excess, 

But calm content, and grateful happiness. 

But, ah ! refinement's enervating hand 

Is threatening swift destruction through the land, 

And luxury, with an avalanche's force, 

Gains strength as it advances on its course. 

Refinement ! — ah ! how falsely so defined ! 

Real refinement is of heart and mind, 

Truly consists in purity of soul, 

And Christian courteousness to crown the whole. 

Pride and ambition reign alike in all, 

No rank exclusively in great and small ; 

Each aims at those above himself, and then 

Inferiors copy him in turn again. 

All feel the general impulse, and look down 

With scorn on those in stations once their own; 

The sons of tradesmen hate the name of trade, 

In which their vulgar fortunes have been made. 

Dress, show, and equipage alone excite 

The emulation which, directed right, 



40 ON THE TIMES IN ENGLAND. 

Would make men truly great, and wise, and good, 

Though so perverted and misunderstood. 

Yet now fair Science rears aloft her head, — 

Genius, invention, knowledge, wide are spread, 

And education's blessings showered around 

On all, in every situation found. 

Does knowledge cause the evil we deplore ? 

Would barbarous ignorance befriend us more ? 

No ! knowledge is a blessing all should prize, 

And wilful ignorance as much despise; 

But ever should be such of sterling use, — 

No blessing liable to more abuse, — 

Such knowledge as will time and death defy, 

And flourish most in worlds beyond the sky. 

As when a voyager to a distant shore 

Has o'er the seas a pathway to explore, 

Should ever keep his destined port in mind, 

Though beautiful the coast he leaves behind, 

Nor, idly lingering, trifle time away 

With what should only soothe him on his way, 

So man, proceeding on his heaven-bound course, 

Should for that voyage collect his utmost force; 



ON THE TIMES IN ENGLAND. 41 

To that his studies, recreations, tend, 

That all, that only all-important end ! 

But, present pleasure, present ease, in view, 

The distant future fades as instant too. 

Light, unimportant studies fill the mind, 

Nor prompt a thought but what 's to earth confined. 

John Bull, — once reckoned solemn, grave, sedate, 

With conquests and prosperity elate, 

Has now become so polished and refined 

He 's left at last his neighbour France behind. 

Rouse! rouse, Britannia! from thy dangerous sleep; 

Awake ! arise ! and vigilantly keep 

Guard o'er thy country, which will else become, 

'T is to be feared, in fate, a second Rome. 

Awake, ye Britons ! dash the cup aside 

Of folly, vice, voluptuousness, and pride ! 

Beware ! nor rashly tempt the certain fate 

Of a luxurious and corrupted state ! 



42 



ODE TO POESY. 



Hail, heaven-born Poesy! — heaven-born, for all 
Of good or fair proceeds, and must, from heaven, — 
Lead me a willing votary in thy train ; 
An humble one, indeed, but one whose heart 
Would fain receive thee to its inmost core, 
And cherish thee while vital heat remains; 
One who would prize thee as a valued gem 
Of countless worth, and bright and glorious lustre; 
One who would love thee, one who loves thee now, 
One who will ever love thee, as the friend 
Of virtue, wisdom, pity, and philanthropy; 
One, sweet Poesy, who ne'er would barter thee for 

sordid wealth, 
Or sully thy pure flame with flattery's incense, 



ODE TO POESY. 43 

Basely to court the smiles of earthly greatness. 
And are there any such ? There are, 't is true ; 
And pity 't is 't is true, and shame as well as pity. 
But few are they who thus pollute the fount 
Of famed Castalius, — sweet, pellucid draught ! 
Then lead me, Poesy, to thy sweet stream. 
Briton may surely boast of her Parnassus; 
For thou hast visited her sea-girt cliffs, 
And deigned to animate her bards to rapture. 
Greece had her Homer, England boasts a Milton. 



44 



ON THE MELANCHOLY DEATH OF LIEUTEN- 
ANT HALSTED,* 

AN OFFICER OF THE 87th FUSILIERS, INTERRED AT CHES- 
TER, WITH MILITARY HONORS. 



See that mournful array ! 

Hark ! that drum's muffled roll ! 
'T is a solemn lament 

For a warrior's soul. 
Yes ! a hero 's no more ; 

But we trust it will prove 
He was only advanced 

To the armies above. 



* He was killed by a fall from the top of Chester castle, 
and was a young man of great promise, having distinguished 
himself in several engagements, during the Burmese war, in 
the East Indies. 



ON THE DEATH OF LIEUTENANT HALSTED. 45 

How fell he ? In battle, 

While death raged around ? 
Did he sink at the moment 

With victory crowned ? 
No ! a conqueror in war, 

He in peace met his doom, 
Which so suddenly hurried him 

Into the tomb. 

In martial procession 

They follow the bier, 
While the dirge for the dead 

Slowly strikes on the ear; 
And the arms which in life 

He had never disgraced, 
In death, with deep grief, 

On his coffin are placed. 

And now, as the corse 

Is inclosed in the ground, 
The vaulted roof echoes 

The awful death-sound. 



46 ON THE DEATH OF LIEUTENANT HALSTED. 

Hark ! a third time they fire ! — 
5 T is the soldier's last knell, 

And his comrades now bid him 
A sorrowing farewell. 



47 



PAIN AND PLEASURE. 



How vain to look for happiness on earth ! 
Friends drop around us, even from our birth. 
And could we be ourselves exempt from woe, 
Ah ! still the tear of sympathy must flow. 

Yet, O, the tear of sympathy is sweet ! 
The painful heart-throb is with balm replete ; 
Pleasure and pain here ever is combined, 
And tears give pleasure to a feeling mind. 

Here, too, we cannot taste without alloy 
Intense sensations of delight and joy; 
Angels alone the heights of rapture know, 
And fallen angels feel the depths of woe ! 



48 TAIN AND PLEASURE. 

Placed in a medium state, let us beware; 
Heaven be our hope, and virtue be our care, 
Pleasure encourage us our course to steer, 
And pain still warn us what we have to fear. 



49 



ON SEEING SOME CHILDREN BLOWING 
BUBBLES. 



See yonder youthful circle, blowing 

Bubbles high in air, 
While their hearts, with mirth o'erflowing, 

Know no thought or care ! 

See the sparkling globules rise, 

Quickly in succession ! 
Some, ambitious, seek the skies, 
Some, yielding to depression, 
One moment sink, the next to mount on high, 
And end their wavering course more brilliantly. 

Like visions glittering in life's young day, 
Bright as yon globules, like them light as air, - 

4 



50 ON SEEING CHILDREN BLOWING BUBBLES. 

Like hopes by disappointment swept away, 
Which, vanishing, are followed by despair, — 

Like shadowy phantoms of the poet's brain, 
Or like ambition's wild-aspiring schemes, 

Equally bright, and equally as vain, — 
Like fancy's magic, or like lover's dreams, 

Emblems of all by which we 're here perplexed, - 

This world itself a bubble to the next. 



51 



THE WAGER, 

IN ANSWER TO A CHALLENGE FROM A YOUNG GENTLEMAN, 
IN WHICH EACH WAS TO WRITE TWENTY LINES OF 
POETRY, WHICH WAS TO BE SUBMITTED TO THE 
JUDGMENT OF FRIENDS. 



A minstrel wreath I 'm called to twine, 
Come, aid me, all ye sisters nine ! — 

I 've twenty lines to write ; 
A rival holds a tempting prize, 
And my poetic power defies, — 

Come, gird thee for the fight ! 

No mean opponent hast thou found, 
To meet thee on Parnassian ground; 
Shouldst thou the laurel gain, 



52 



THE WAGER. 



And this fair company decree 
The meed of victory to thee, 
Thou may'st be justly vain. 

At friendship's call thou oft hast waked,— 
Here glory, honor, fame, are staked, — 

Corne, lady Muse, defend me ! 
Be thou my sword, be thou my shield; 
The knight must to the lady yield 

If thou wilt but befriend me. 

Yet, should the wished-for prize be mine, 
Or this just court award it thine, 

Yet when the contest ends, 
Though poets seldom can agree, 
The world at least one proof shall see, 

That rivals may be friends. 



53 



TO THE MEMORY OF WILLIAM SHENSTONE. 

A PASTORAL POEM. 



Ye shepherds, attend to my strain, 

While I sing of your Corydon's praise; 

He was truly the pride of the plain, — 
O, assist me a tribute to raise ! 

A tribute to him I admire, 

For his tenderness, talents, and worth; — 
Ah, shepherds ! how vain the desire 

We shall e'er see his equal on earth ! 

And, Corydon, was there a heart 

Which, unmelted, could hear thee complain? 
A nymph who could bid thee depart, 

Nor, relenting, recall thee again? 



54 TO THE MEMORY OF WILLIAM SHENSTONE. 

To the banks, and the grottos, and groves, 
Which for her with such taste you adorned, 

By the fountains and murmuring Doves, 

Could she stray, and your love unreturned? 

Ah, Phillis ! our favorite swain 
'Twas cruel to use thus unkind, 

And to wound with contempt and disdain 
His feeling and sensitive mind. 

For thee not a shepherd shall mourn, 
Not a dirge shall melodiously flow; 

You in turn shall be treated with scorn, 
Since you caused our dear Corydon woe ! 

But, Phillis, though justly your due, 
In vain our resentment is shown; 

For our favorite shepherd was true, 
And you live in a strain of his own. 

And since our own Corydon thus 
Has made Phillis his favorite theme, 



TO THE MEMORY OF WILLIAM SHENSTONE. 55 

Her name shall be precious to us, 

While her virtues we love and esteem. 

Ah, shepherds ! our Corydon's flute 

No longer is heard on the plain; 
The voice which once charmed us is mute, — 

Its sweet tones will ne'er soothe us again. 

His picturesque sylvan retreat 

May the loss of its master deplore, 

And echo his name may repeat, 
For his fostering care is no more ! 

If genius merits a sigh, 

If goodness is worthy a tear, 
Mild charity's pitying eye, 

And justice to self still severe, — 

O, join us our shepherd to mourn ! 

For these were in him all combined; 
Breathe a sigh, drop a tear, o'er his urn. 

For his was a masterly mind. 



56 



HA WARDEN HEYS. 



All around 't is fairy ground, 
Nature's magic here displayed, 

By romantic beauties crowned, 
Hill and dale, and light and shade. 

Trees of various form and hue 
Wildly scattered o'er the scene, 

Here, a wide and lovely view, 

There, the Heys embowered in green ! 

If to pensive thought inclined, 
Here the wanderer may stray, 

And in wood or valley find 
Shelter from the blaze of day. 



HAWARDEN HEYS. 57 

Climb the hill, and there the eye 
A wide expanse of earth may see; 

Art and nature equal vie 
To form the rich variety. 

But haply eve's pale tints you love, — 
Perchance you prize the moonlight ray ; 

Go, watch, then, Cynthia rise above 
Yon ruined castle's turrets gray. 



58 



THE SOUVENIR. 



Take this simple and beautiful air, — 
May it sometimes remind you of me ; 

And sweetly 't will banish my care, 
To imagine it warbled by thee. 

In my absence 't will plead for me here, 

And gently my advocate prove; 
T will tell you that love so sincere 

Separation can never remove. . 

When my tongue has pronounced its farewell, 
And when far from the voice I love best, 

My heart shall delightedly dwell 

On that thought, and 't will soothe it to rest. 



THE SOUVENIR. 



59 



O, let it not e'er be profaned 

By lips which love's power have not known ! 
Keep sacred its token unfeigned, — 

Keep it sacred to lips like your own ! 



60 



A SKETCH. 



I saw her in beauty, I saw her in pride, 

In life's brightest lustre, youth's earliest bloom, 
When her cheek with the hue of that rose might 
have vied, 
That decks the green sod which encircles her 
tomb. 

I saw her when, colorless, faded, and pale, 
That lily her delicate emblem might be; — 

Or the marble on which is inscribed her sad tale, 
Warning others they soon may lie lowly as she. 

I saw her encircled with each magic charm, 

With each witching spell, which earth has to be- 
stow, 



A SKETCH. 61 

And I saw her shrink back in dismay and alarm, 
When death, hovering over her, menaced his blow. 

I saw her when suffering had blanched her fair 
cheek, 
And her eyes, once so brilliant, now trembled with 
tears ; 
But a sweet, placid smile, and her accents so meek, 
Assured us religion had banished her fears. 

In health's brightest bloom, she never had seemed 

So lovely, so beauteous, so heavenly, as now; 
When her eye, and her smile, with wild gayety 
beamed, 
And her pale cheek was flushed with a delicate 
glow. 

I saw her as calmly she yielded her breath; 

The tear was now gone, but the smile still re- 
mained 
On her beautiful features, when sleeping in death, 
Which no trace of her sufferings or sorrow re- 
tained. 



62 



ON READING LORD BYRON'S LINES ON THE 
DEATH OF HENRY KIRKE WHITE, 

IN " ENGLISH BARDS AND SCOTCH REVIEWERS." 



Unhappy White ! — Ah ! Byron, say not so ! 

O, may thy spirit be as happy now ! 

Well did an ancient sage the caution breathe, 

Say not what man is happy, ere his death ! 

And when Kirke White expired, ah ! who could 

fear, 
That that pure soul winged not its bright career 
To an exalted, a celestial sphere ? 
Then say not, Byron, all its promise fair 
But sought the grave to sleep for ever there ! 
That noble heart by death was not undone; 
Heaven called, not Science slew, her favorite son, — 



ON THE DEATH OF HENRY KIRKE WHITE. 63 

Called him to realms of clear and perfect light, 
The mysteries of science opened to his sight, 
Unveiling beauties which the mists of sense 
Enveloped in thick clouds, obscure and dense. 
Not like an eagle stretched upon the plain, 
No more on venturous wing to soar again, 
But like Him who descended from the skies 
To raise man there, Kirke White but fell to rise ! 



64 



L'INCONSTANT. 



He saw, he admired, her, and sought to inspire 
Her susceptible heart with love's sweetest emo- 
tion; 

He strove to anticipate every desire, 

And silently paid her the deepest devotion. 

He saw the deep blush he could call to her cheek, 
And vainly imagined the conquest his own; 

Then heartlessly left her, fresh triumphs to seek, 
And exult in the victory he thought he had won. 

But he knew not the spirit of womanly pride 

Which, though sweetness itself, she could call to 
her aid ; 



L'INCONSTANT. 65 

She summoned it now, and successfully tried 
To forget the impression his falsehood made. 

He saw, and too late, with remorse and regret, 
That she viewed him with feelings allied to dis- 
dain; 

He felt that like him she could learn to forget, 
And ne'er trifled with woman's affections again. 



G6 



SELF-EXAMINATION. 



While darkness shrouds thy mortal sight 
In nature's solemn stillness, night, 
These questions to thine heart apply, 
And let it answer honestly. 

What have I done that I should not ? 
That which I should have I forgot ? 
Have I done aught to mark my way, 
Or, like the Roman, lost a day ? 

Have I thought what I fain would hide, 
When my heart's inmost depths are tried ? 
Or said what I should blush to appear, 
When God, and man, and angels hear ? 



SELF-EXAMINATION. 67 

Have I employed my tongue in praise 
To Him whose mercy crowns my days ? 
Or thought of Him who gave me power 
To think, that I might love him more ? 

A day is added to my store, — 
Who much receives should render more; 
Since yesterday another given, — 
To-day am I more fit for heaven ? 



68 



LINES TO A FRIEND, 



ON RECEIVING SOME IVORY TABLETS. 



Accept a tribute of sincere regard, 

A simple wreath, and from an humble bard. 

But one poor Muse at least my lay shall grace, 

Each flattering line benevolently trace; 

Mnemosyne her grateful aid shall lend, 

My dear, my kind, my own, my father's, friend ! 

Yes ! symbols of thy worth still brightly shine 

In memory's deep but treasure-hoarded mine; 

And on the tablets of my heart shall write 

Each kindly act in characters of light ! 



69 



ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY. 



Mourn not for Marg'ret ! her sufferings are o'er, 

And her glorified spirit rejoices in bliss; 
Triumphantly crowned, she remembers no more. 

In the joys of the next world, the sorrows of this. 
Conformed to her Saviour in suffering here, 

She drank of the cup which her Father had given, 
And exchanged for a higher and holier sphere 

The trials of earth, for the treasures of heaven. 

Mourn not for her, though in youth's early bloom 
The summons to leave all most dear has been 
sent; 
Though tears, bitter tears, may be shed o'er her 
tomb, 
He loves her far more who recalls what he lent. 



70 ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY. 

Yes, Marg'ret ! in thee Ihave lost one whose love 
Through life I had hoped would my pilgrimage 
cheer; 

But though thou hast fled to the mansions above, 
My trembling footseps may follow thee there. 

Mourn not for Marg'ret ! though great be our loss, 
Though her sweet disposition endeared her to all; 
If we strive for the crown, we must take up the 
cross, 
Else earth would our wayward affections enthrall. 
Though cold is that heart which so warmly could 
glow, 
Though silent that voice which so sweetly would 
thrill, 
Though the sigh may arise, the unbidden tear flow, 
We would bow to the stroke most submissively 
still. 



71 



LINES FOR AN ALBUM. 



TO MISS A. S. 



Alicia bids me wake the lay, 

Alicia courts my muse; 
Sweet girl, with pleasure I obey, — 

'Twere painful to refuse; 

For well I feel, though weak the strain, 
Though poor the lines may flow, 

No critic harsh have I to gain, 
Approval to bestow. 

Alicia loves the simplest proof 

Of friendship and regard; 
To gain her smile were boon enough 

To inspire a worthier bard. 



72 LINES FOR AN ALBUM. 

But much I fear her poet's lyre, 
Though tuned with earnest heart, 

Can never equal or aspire 
To half her painter's art. 

No flowers have I of hue so bright 
As his to adorn the page, 

No brilliant tints to attract the sight, 
And pleased regard engage; 

Else should the rose of England twine 
With Erin's shamrock green, 

And friendship's ivy-leaf divine 
Bloom verdantly between. 



73 



TO A YOUNG LADY DURING SICKNESS. 



My gentle Jane, accept a willing lay, 

An honest tribute most sincerely penned; 

No empty compliments I mean to pay, 
But simply breathe the wishes of a friend. 

Perchance the Muse may prompt a serious strain, 
As one best suited to a suffering hour; 

But soon may'st thou both health and strength re- 
gain, 
Nor feel the sad effects of sickness' power. 

Yet think, dear girl, while yet it pleases Him 
(Who chastens whom he loves) your faith to try, 

Who calls for clouds the youthful eye to dim, 

That earth's vain scenes may pass less dazzling by, 



74 TO A YOUNG LADY DURING SICKNESS. 

Who summons pain, or sickness, or distress, 
To show the emptiness of all below, 

To teach fond man that he alone can bless, 

That lasting peace from Heaven alone can flow , — 

O, think of what makes even sickness blest, 

Without which health and earth's best gifts are 
vain, 

Which gives to life's true joys their purest zest, 
And renders death itself eternal gain ! 

I wish thee all which this world can supply, 
I wish thee health, and happiness, and ease; 

But all that 's bright must fade, that lives must die, — 
Then, O dear Jane ! I wish thee more than these. 

I wish thee endless life beyond the tomb, 
Pleasures that never fade, nor joys that fly; 

Leaves for the healing of the nations * bloom 
In that blest land, on trees that never die ! 

* " And in the midst of the city was there the tree of life, 
and the leaves of the tree were for the healing of the na- 
tions." — Rev. xxii. 2. 



75 



SCENE AFTER A HURRICANE, 

ON THE WESTERN COAST OF IRELAND. BOAT FREIGHTED 
WITH DEAD BODIES. 



Hark ! hear ye not that piercing cry, 
That doleful mourning, long and loud i 

The echoing rocks and hills reply 
To the deep wailing of the crowd. 



A boat appears ! with outstretched hand 
And eager eyes her course they hail; 

But scarcely does she touch the strand, 
Again resounds that mournful wail. 

That boat contains a solemn freight 
Of human corses, lately glowing 



76 SCENE AFTER A HURRICANE. 

With life and health, perchance elate 
With happiness o'erflowing. 

Redeemed from the devouring tide, 
The empty caskets now are borne, 

Each to his own beloved fireside, — 
Alas that Ikus they should return ! 

The animating spirits fled, 

Ah ! what avails the lifeless clay? 

The piercing "keen cry" o'er the dead 
With empty sound shall pass away ! 

But let not thus the warning pass 

Which issues from their humble biers, 

As many a warning voice, alas ! 

Is heard with dull and deathlike ears. 

The winds repeat the solemn sound, 
The waters in each rushing wave; 

Destruction both have scattered round, 
And yawned hath many an early grave ! 



SCENE AFTER A HURRICANE. 77 

Full many a fabric man hath reared, 

One awful moment levelled low, 
When, to perform his will prepared, 

God bade the angry wind to blow. 

It swept through nature's wide domain, 
The forest's pride was prostrate cast; 

The growth of ages strewed the plain, 
Loud groaning in the ruthless blast. 

But who can count the human souls 
That perished in that fearful gale? 

When the last trumpet shakes the poles, 
It — it alone — "shall tell the tale. 

When God's almighty power appeared 
In tempests bursting o'er his head, 

The "still, small voice" Elijah heard, 
As to his cave he trembling fled. 

And shall not we, by mercy spared, 

While judgment thus has stalked abroad, 



78 SCENE AFTER A HURRICANE. 

Be by such dread events prepared 
To listen to the voice of God ? 

That gentle voice, O, may we hear 
In the deep silence of the heart, 

Dispelling all but godly fear, 
And bidding every sin depart ! 



79 



ON THE DEATH OF THE DOWAGER LADY 
POWERSCOURT.* 



Angels, strike your harps of gold ! 

Who surround the eternal throne; 
Though the Godhead ye behold, 

Sympathy with man ye own. 
O'er his fallen, yet kindred, race, 

Still ye watch with holy love, 
And, ransomed through a Saviour's grace, 

Behold him seek your ranks above. ' 



* This pious lady had felt a presentiment of her approach- 
ing death a week before she was attacked with any sickness, 
and immediately arranged her affairs, to the most minute par- 
ticular, accordingly ; on completing which she was taken ill, 
and died in a few days. 



80 ON THE DEATH OF LADY POWERSCOURT. 

Hail ye now a happy soul ! 

From our world of woe and care, 
Lo ! she gains the blissful goal, 

Comes your heavenly joys to share, 
Through the portals of the grave, 

In the steps her Saviour trod, 
Who in death the victory gave, 

And conveyed her home to God. 

Clothed in garments pure and white, 

Cleansed in Calvary's crimson flood, 
Sinners ! who (in robes so bright) 

Comes to view her Saviour, God? 
She who gains a heavenly crown 

Earthly honors meekly wore, 
Gladly laid the burden down, — 

Powerscourt was the name she bore. 

Wealth was hers, but she had learned 
Where alone true riches lie, 

And from worldly treasures turned, 
Seeking those beyond the sky. 



ON THE DEATH OF LADY P0WERSC0URT. 81 

Early doomed to feel the smart 

Of affliction's chastening rod, 
She reposed a widowed heart 

On the bosom of her God. 

Through this wilderness she passed, 

Supported by her Saviour's arm, 
And to behold his face at last 

Could death of every sting disarm. 
Hastening her duties to fulfil, 

Assured her Lord would call her home 
From that high station which his will 

Said, " Occupy till I shall come," 

Her stewardship she calmly closed, 

Though yet no sickness touched her frame; 
Her house in order she disposed, 

And then the looked-for summons came. 
She sickened, — human aid was vain, — 

She knew that noxo her hour was come. 
Angels, pour forth a glorious strain ! 

Her happy spirit welcome home ! 
6 



82 



METRICAL LETTER TO MISS N- 



My very dear friend, 
In your absence I send a few lines to remind 
you of those left behind you. I hear that to Der- 
ry you journeyed quite merry, and your brother 
to greet you had hastened to meet you; to whom, 
by the way, I my compliments pay, with his friend 
and your own, now no longer unknown, for ere 
this, I dare say, they have stolen you away from 
the town and its noise, to the country's sweet joys. 
Apropos to your city ; my heart throbbed with 
pity, as I yesterday read, in the history by Reid, 
of the right noble stand of the patriot band by 
whom in the siege Londonderry was manned. 
Such sufferings and zeal to our feelings appeal, 



METRICAL LETTER TO MISS N . 83 

and make Derry shine bright in fair virtue's sweet 
light. 

It surprised me to hear, that her walls still ap- 
pear, complete as they were in that notable year, 
their breadth though so great, so much strength 
might create, as might cause them to last to so 
distant a date. O my dear, to look down on the 
river and town in so sacred a spot, must not every 
thought be with past recollections of chivalry 
fraught ? No wonder your mind caught a tone 
more refined, and the scene which you drew bore 
so vivid a hue ! 

But, as my vagrant Muse no such prospect now 
views, she must beg you her errors and faults to 
excuse. And, wishing you every joy and delight, 
and hoping (when leisure permits) you will write, 
My dear Mary Ann, 
Pray believe me to be, 

Sincerely affectionate, 
Yours, — F. E. B. 



84 



ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY, 

WHO, ON BEING SUDDENLY TOLD THAT HER LOVER WAS 
MARRIED TO ANOTHER, SURVIVED THE SHOCK ONLY A 
FEW DAYS. 



We mourn but for the dead 
As gone a little while before, 

To a brighter region fled, 
On a fair and happy shore 
Safely moored, their dangers o'er, 

From sin and woe redeemed and blest, 

And entered into heavenly rest. 

But mourn we thus for those 

Whom death will not restore ? 
Who, though on them no grave may close. 



ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY. 85 

To us are still no more ? 

Who, ere the dawn of life be o'er, 
Its first bright dream of love and truth 
Have blighted yet in early youth ? 

Ah, no ! a sharper pain 

Then pierces through the heart, 
In which, although, indeed, 't were vain 

To say self bears no part, — 

Yes ! wounded pride may aid the smart, — 
Yet surely angels, too, might weep 
O'er earth's poor wayward, wandering sheep. 

Perhaps 't was thus she mourned 

The falsehood of one so dear; 
But her wounded soul returned 

To God, and one only tear 

She shed o'er earth's fleeting visions here, 
While his folly and sin formed the fatal dart, 
The death-pang which pierced her gentle heart. 



86 



A SKETCH OF CONNEMARA, 

A ROMANTIC DISTRICT IN THE WEST OF IRELAND. 



Come, my friends, in fancy climb 
Binnabola's heights sublime ! 
See their frowning summits vie, 
Proudly towering to the sky. 
Now behold yon darkening cloud 
Their stately majesty enshroud ; 
Now dispersed and chased away 
By the sun's enlivening ray, 
Soon emerging to the view, 
Clothed with every varied hue, 
Chameleon tints of green and blue. 

Now turn we where fair Clifden stands, 
And many a pleasing scene commands; 



A SKETCH OF CONNEMARA. 87 

But no description can convey 

How picturesque her church and bay; 

Nor can we greater justice do 

Her castle and its beauties, too. 

But come, all ye who love the roar 

Where wild, impetuous torrents pour; 

See that frail bridge sustain the shock 

Of waters dashed from rock to rock. 

Collecting from the neighbouring hills, 

The flood the very arches fills, 

And, foaming down the craggy steep, 

Forms eddying whirlpools vast and deep. 

Yet here the daring trout can leap, 

And, darting through the foam and spray, 

Unharmed, pursue their venturous way, 

But see, in treacherous mazes set, 

Yon fisher throws the wily net, 

And cautiously conceals the snare 

Beneath the rock, with jealous care, 

Just where the angry waters boil, 

And thus secures the finny spoil. 



88 A SKETCH OF CONNEMARA. 

To Roundstone now our way we take, 

O'er mountain moor and lonely lake, 

Where the wild-fowl rear their broods, 

In these romantic solitudes. 

O, that the food earth, sea, and sky 

For man's subsistence here supply 

By starving thousands were enjoyed, 

Who of those comforts are devoid ! 

O, that these vast unpeopled plains, 

Where so much native beauty reigns, — 

Neglected spots of Erin's isle, — 

Were decked with culture's cheerful smile ! 

But I must hasten to conclude 

My ramble through these regions rude, 

Lest I my kind friends' patience tire, 

A prospect which I don't admire. 

But should they on some future day 

Again desire with me to stray, 

Perchance my humble Muse once more 

May Connemara's wilds explore. 



89 



ON THE BAPTISM OF AN INFANT. 



Creator of the human race, 
Almighty Father of mankind, 

I humbly bow before thy face, — 
O, may my child thy favor find ! 

Saviour ! obedient to thy word 
I bring my infant son to thee; 

Accept and bless him, gracious Lord ! 
Say, " Suffer him to come to me ! " 

Baptized with water all must be, 
According to thy plain command, 

And cleansed by sovereign grace, as free 
As water poureth through the land. 



90 ON THE BAPTISM OF AN INFANT. 

Baptized in the most sacred name 
Of Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, 

O, may my son thy mercy claim, 
And gain the grace by nature lost ! 

My cherub boy, thy infant smiles 

Bring gladness to thy mother's heart, 

Which many a painful thought beguiles, 
In which thy future fate hath part. 

But He who loved thy helpless race, 
And clasped them fondly to his breast, 

His providence thy wants embrace ! 
On this thy parent's hopes must rest. 

He can through life thy wants supply, 
In death, his mercy still can save, 

On cherub's wings can make thee fly, 
And bear thee safe o'er Jordan's wave. 



91 



TO A FRIEND, 

FOR CHRISTMAS DAY, WITH A PRESENT OF A NETTED 
PURSE. 



Accept this trifling mark of love, — 
Affection's hand its meshes wove; 
May silken cords, as closely twined, 
Our hearts and souls together bind. 

May Heaven its blessings on thee pour, 
Thy purse contain a golden store, 
And love and truth, those gems divine, 
More bright than gold, be ever thine ! 

But all earth's treasures still must fade, 
The true, the loved, be lowly laid; 



92 TO A FRIEND. 

Then be thy surest riches stored 

In brighter worlds, with Christ the Lord. 

This day we hail his heavenly birth, 
This day a babe he came on earth, 
Forsook the glories of the skies 
To win for man the heavenly prize. 

Then may we lay up treasures there, 
In heaven's blest courts so bright and fair, 
That world of peace and joy above, 
Eternal as the Saviour's love ! 



93 



A CAMBRIAN TOUR. 



Together we rambled through Cambria's land, 

We sailed along Mersey's broad stream, 
We witnessed in nature the beauteous, the grand, 
We gazed at the noblest work art ever planned, 
Then parted as if 't were a dream. 

In scenes which the poet delights to explore, 

And the hand of the painter to trace, 
Where time has his mantle of ivy thrown o'er 
Beaumaris's castle, Caernarvon's proud tower, 
Which the birth of a prince was to grace, — 

In the land of romance, of the mountain and river, 
How sweet our brief intercourse grew ! 



94 A CAMBRIAN TOUR. 

And the thought that when parting we parted for 

ever, 
That in this earthly scene we should meet again 

never, 
A sigh of regret perchance drew. 

To Bangor's fair city our ride was delightful, 
But we stopped not the town to survey; 

Penmaen Maur's craggy steep frowned tremendous- 
ly frightful, 

But Conway's light fabric looked poor to the sight, full 
Of Menai's stupendous display. 

From Conway we travelled for twenty long miles, 

And arrived, just as night gathered round, 
At the vicarage, where we were greeted with smiles, 
And a welcome, the warmth of which sweetly be- 
guiles 
Fatigue of its weariness, found. 

Llanberris, thy beauties can scarcel excel 
The beauties of Clwydd and Cwm, 



A CAMBRIAN TOUR. 95 

Where mountain and rivulet, woodland and dell, 
With the sea in the distance, embellishes well 
An Eden of brightness and bloom. 

Fair Cambria ! land of the mountain and rill, 

Of heroes and poets of old, 
Where the harp poured its sweetness o'er valley 

and hill, — 
Yes ! nature's own harmony hallows thee still; 

What heart to her music is cold ? 



96 



ON THE BIRTH OF AN INFANT. 



Welcome, my darling, to thy mother's heart, — 

A gift from God, a precious trust, thou art; 

A soul confided to thy parent's care, 

To train for heaven and Christ's blest mansion there. 

Like Moses in his ark of reeds and mud, 
Thy fragile bark floats on a troubled flood, 
Launched on the waves of this world's stormy tide, 
More dangerous than Egyptia's waters wide. 

But the same God who interposed to save, 

And snatched him from the Nile's o'erwhelming 

wave, — 
That providence which Pharaoh's daughter sent, 
And to her heart his tears made eloquent, 



ON THE BIRTH OF AN INFANT. 97 



His fate o'erruled, and He whose word can save 
Caused her to draw him from his watery grave, 
And take him for her own, — that Hebrew boy 
Whom cruel Pharaoh's mandate would destroy, 



That providence, my babe, can shelter thee 
From all the storms of life's tempestuous sea, 
And bear thee safely to that happy shore 
Where all its waves and storms can reach no more. 



98 



LINES 

SUGGESTED BY THE PARLIAMENTARY GRANT FOR THE 
IMPROVEMENT OF THE SHANNON. 



Shannon ! on thy peaceful shore 
Hostile armies meet no more; 
Civil war and foreign feud 
Are in God's good time subdued. 
Driven before a conquering foe, 

Erin's sons no more retreat 
Where thy waters' rapid flow 

A refuge formed in their defeat. 
Yet, beyond thy sylvan banks, 

Still a separate people dwell; 
Connaught's province scarcely ranks 

With the three which foremost fell. 



LINES. 99 

Freedom ! when thy children sought 

This their mountainous retreat, 
Vainly they thy semblance bought, 

To make their thraldom more complete. 
Freed, indeed, from temporal power, 

In savage wilds they long remained; 
But in that dark and suffering hour, 

While ignorance and error reigned, 
Rome riveted her fetters on the mind, 
Ere o'er their lofty hills the light of knowledge 

shined. 

Shannon ! soon thy waters' bound 

A proverb of reproach became; 
And e'en their countrymen were found 

To pour contempt on Connaught's name. 
Poor, despised, her people grew, 

Exiles on their native shore. 
Shannon ! thou conspiredst, too, 

Their banishment to aid the more; 
But now propitious flows thy circling tide, 
Uniting those whom thou didst once divide. 






100 LINES. 

Now, no more thy noble stream 

Sad and silent glides along ; 
Hail the kindly power of steam ! 

Thy banks present a busy throng. 
The dawn of commerce breaks at last, 

And shines upon thy silvery wave, 
To heal the sorrows of the past, 

And Erin's suffering land to save; 
To make thy stream the noble source 

Of blessings flowing through the isle; 
To mark thy far, wide-spreading course 

With peace and plenty's cheerful smile; 
To burst the bonds of ignorance, 

By poverty so firmly twined, 
And raise with happy influence 

At once the body and the mind. 
For, as the light of knowledge spreads, 

Religion follows in its train, 
Soon casts away vain charms and beads, 

And hails with joy the gospel reign. 
Hail ! Shannon, hail ! this lovely land restore ; 
Bid famine, feuds, and discord waste no more. 



101 



Let idleness no more, with downcast mien, 
And pallid want, deface each rural scene; 
But active industry, and heavenly peace, 
Bid Ireland's woes and crimes for ever cease. 



102 



TO A FRIEND, 

ON HIS LEAVING ENGLAND FOR SOUTH AMERICA. 



If aught can urge a friend's request 

With more prevailing force, 
'T is parting thus from east to west, 
When meeting must involve at best 

Uncertainty, of course. 
Yet think not I would damp the zeal 
A sailor's breast should ever feel. 

For British bards have sung that zeal 

In music's richest strain, 
And British hearts must ever feel 
How strongly to their love appeal 

Her wanderers of the main; 
Then go, and prosperous gales convey 
Thy bark upon its destined way ! 



TO A FRIEND. 103 

Yet think, while o'er the trackless deep 

Thy vessel smoothly glides, 
Or should the angry billows leap, 
And rise in watery mountains steep, 

Who o'er the storm presides; 
Remember Him whose sovereign will 
Can bid the winds and waves be still. 

Yes, Edward, yes; the voyage of life 

Demands a sailor's care; 
Passions, the elements of strife, 
And rocks abound, with dangers rife, 

All unsuspected there; 
Mists blind our eyes, our track pursue, 
And hide our wished-for port from view. 

The Bible is the compass given 

By which our course to steer; 
When tossed by billows, tempest driven, 
" A pilot to the port of heaven " 

Points, with directions clear, — 
He who once trod the briny wave 
To prove his mighty power to save. 



104 



TO ANNIE. 



Though dark be the season of dreary December, 

A wreath we may pluck from an evergreen tree, 
And when Erin's kind daughters I fondly remember, 

A garland I '11 twine, my dear Annie, for thee. 
The ivy, revealing of friendship the feeling, 

The holly of Scotia's famed bard, shall be thine; 
While mistletoe blending, its elegance lending, 

For thee, my dear Annie, a garland I '11 twine ! 

And though far away soon my footsteps may wander, 
And the banks of the Foyle I no longer may see, 

Full oft on the friends far removed shall I ponder, 
And my thoughts shall revert, my dear Annie, to 
thee ! 



TO ANNIE. 105 

Or should music, soft stealing o'er each tender feel- 
ing, 
And touching the chords in fond memory's shrine, 
Full oft on each note thy remembrance shall float, 
And the voice of its numbers, dear Annie, be 
thine. 



106 



AN ACROSTIC. 



FOR AN ALBUM. 



Joyfully I court the Muse, 
And wake for thee the votive lay ; 
Nor thou, dear maid, the boon refuse, 
Entreating which my vows I pay. 

eemed, and honored, and beloved, 
Let me, dear Jane, thy friendship claim; 
Eager to have these lines approved, 
And prizing naught like thy sweet name, 
No, not a word the tongue can frame, — 
O, smile upon my simple lay ! 
Receive my vows this festive day. 



AN ACROSTIC. 107 

Prizing a world of bliss above, 
O, may thy years on earth be blest ! 
Promoting all which Christians love. 
Eternal be thy happy rest ! 



108 



HYMN. 



O'er the dreary waste of waters 

Where my dear one's footsteps rove, 

Father ! be thy care extended ! 
God of mercy and of love ! 

As of old, almighty Saviour ! 

Bid the winds and waves be still; 
Now, as then, the powers of nature 

Wait upon thy sovereign will. 

Spread your sheltering wings around him, 
Ye whom Heaven's blest missions bear, 

Holy angels, guardian spirits, 
Take, O, take him to your care ! 



HYMN. 109 

Still this fallen world ye visit ; 

Though unseen, his steps attend; 
Viewless messengers of mercy, 

From all ill his course defend ! 

And, when life's short voyage is over, 

When the waves of Jordan roll, 
O, may angels round him hover, 

Heaven's blest shores receive his soul ! 



110 



ON COLONIAL SLAVERY. 

1838. 



O'er the fair realms of Britain the sun ne'er de- 
clines; 

On our sovereign's dominions he ceaselessly shines, 

And withdraws but his beams from our own native 
isle, 

Her most distant possessions to gild with his smile. 

Then should not the sun of fair freedom, too, rise, 

With beams as refulgent, in tropical skies? 

And while here his bright rays their kind influence 

lend, 
To our poor negro brethren their glory extend ? 



ON COLONIAL SLAVERY. Ill 

Shall the sceptre of Britain by woman be grasped, 
Nor the fetters which bind the poor negro unclasped ? 
Shall the voice of her people ascend to her throne, 
Nor Victoria the claims of humanity own ? 

Forbid it, each feeling to woman most dear ! 
Forbid it, fair charity, pity's soft tear ! 
Forbid it, the shriek — O, so fearfully wild ! — 
As the poor negro mother is torn from her child ! 

Forbid it, the lash, which so cruelly hangs 

O'er the head of the slave, and adds shame to his 

pangs ! 
Alas ! even females the scourge cannot flee, 
Till the law of their country pronounces them free ! 

Yes ! Victoria shall yet hear the poor negro's moan, 
And the voice of her people shall echo her own, 
And the bright star of liberty rise o'er the waves, 
And the mandate of mercy give freedom to slaves ! 



112 



FONTSTOWN. 



From Albion's shores a wanderer long, 
Hibernia oft has been my song ; 
And well her beauties may inspire 
The painter's art, or poet's lyre. 

Sweet Erin ! fair and lovely land, 
Adorned by nature's bounteous hand 
With hills and valleys, lakes and streams, 
Beauteous as in a poet's dreams, — 

Full oft thy loveliness I 've sung, 
Thy praise has dwelt upon my tongue, 
And many a wreath I 've fondly twined, 
To grace thy sons and daughters kind. 



F0NTST0WN. 113 

Now once again my Muse shall wake 
A simple strain, for Fontstown's sake; 
A fairer spot, where all are fair, 
Ne'er met my wandering footsteps there. 

Fontstown ! my sweet and peaceful home ! 
Along thy glades I love to roam, 
Or rest beneath thy spreading trees, 
While hawthorn sweets perfume the breeze, 

Or saunter through the pleasant shade, 
The arbour-walk, for coolness made, 
With primroses and violets spread, 
And branches clustering over head. 

Emerging from the leafy screen, 
The pleasant parsonage is seen; 
While lovely flowers, of various hue 
And fragrant scent, adorn the view. 

Or turn we now that walk along, 
With lilacs and laburnums hung, 

8 



114 FONTSTOWN. 

And softly trace, with silent tread, 
The precincts of the sacred dead. 

No gloomy shadows here are thrown, 
No marble urn, no sculptured stone; 
But flowers and trees alone disclose 
Where here they seek their last repose; 

While, pointing to that heaven above, 
Where disembodied spirits rove, 
No more to suffer or to die, 
The church erects its spire on high ; 

And, just beyond the grassy mound 

Which marks the church-yard's hallowed ground, 

The rural school-house quiet stands, 

And our admiring gaze commands. 

Each passing stranger's rapid glance 
Attests its taste and elegance; 
May peace and love within it dwell ! 
Fontstown ! sweet Fontstown ! fare thee well. 



115 



TO A FRIEND, 

ON GOING ABROAD, 



Farewell, my friend; yet, ere you bid adieu 
To those who justly are most dear to you, 
To th' place which for so many years has been 
Your home, to enter on another scene, 
My wishes for your welfare pray accept, 
My warmest wishes shall for you be kept. 

May you be both respected and beloved, 
By God and conscience may you be approved; 
May you pursue with zeal the narrow way, 
Which leads the soul to heaven's eternal day; 
Then, when your arduous course on earth is o'er, 
To heaven your soul on seraph's wings shall soar, 
Where friends at length shall meet to part no more. 



116 



TO MRS. G. W. 



I 'll twine for thee a minstrel wreath, 
And pure affection o'er it breathe; 
And, simple though my offering be, 
I '11 wake a poet's lyre for thee. 

My sister ! — yes, in name and heart 
All which that word conveys thou art; 
As dear, as loved, as thou couldst be 
Had the same parent nurtured thee ! — 

I will not in these simple lays 
Offend thine ear with idle praise, 



TO MRS. G. W. 117 

Nor deck with hyperboles of art 
A playful tribute of the heart. 

The brightest proof esteem supplies 
Of worth from whence it must arise, 
And flattery grateful and most dear 
To hearts like yours, is love sincere. 

These both are thine, and may they bless 
Each coming year with happiness, 
And may thy fate through life be proved 
As happy as thou art beloved ! 

Yet, as no mortal ear may meet 
With bliss full, perfect, and complete. 
And drops imbued with bitterest gall 
Are mingled in the cup of all, 

O, may those drops, by Heaven designed 
To purify the heart and mind, 
Raise us above the cares of earth, 
And teach us things of real worth ! 



118 TO MRS. G. W. 

Make us resigned, submissive, meek, 
And things above desire and seek ! 
Transformed to blessings, only prove 
A tender Parent's watchful love ! 



119 



ON THE ANNIVERSARY OF MY BIRTHDAY. 



God of my life ! another year 
Of that short life is past, 

And this, for aught that I can tell, 
May be decreed the last. 

As wave is urged on wave, 
Year after year rolls by, 

Bearing me onward to the shores 
Of bright eternity. 

Eternity, or wished, 

Or feared, must come; 
Beyond earth's narrow bounds 

Is placed our home. 



120 ON THE ANNIVERSARY OF MY BIRTHDAY. 

Whether the golden bowl 

Unbroken shall remain, 
Whether the silver cord 

Its links unsnapped retain, 

Till nature yield 

To time's all-powerful sway, 
And the tired spirit gently quit 

The tottering clay, — 

Or whether, ere the charms 

Of life are fled, 
The fatal shaft of death 

Lay low my youthful head, — 

Is only known to Him 

Who reigns above, 
But who extends to all 

A father's care and love. 

Whether the coming year 
Be doomed to be 



ON THE ANNIVERSARY OF MY BIRTHDAY. 121 

A year of peace and joy, 
Or fraught with misery, 

I know not, and 't were vain 

For me to know 
What portion I 'm assigned, 

Of joy or woe. 

He'who the sparrow's fall 

Deigns to decree, 
Yet rules the monarch's fate, 

Will care for me. 

He, to whose piercing eye 

A thousand years are one, — 
He will appoint my lot 

And mark my span ! 

He toill appoint? — he has, 

Ere time began; 
E'en /was not o'erlooked 

In Heaven's bright plan. 



122 ON THE ANNIVERSARY OF MY BIRTHDAY, 

The meanest child of earth 

May — must — sustain 
Some one connecting link 

In time's great chain. 

He in his wisdom planned 

My course through life; 
He saw if I should fall 

Or conquer in the strife. 

He knows the soul he formed, 
He hears each feeble prayer 

Which, when to Heaven breathed, 
Finds entrance there. 

He knows the heart he framed, 

Each feeling ere it rise; 
He sees each struggling tear, 

He hears its sighs. 

He knows each blessing's worth, 
He knows each trial's power, 



ON THE ANNIVERSARY OF MY BIRTHDAY. 123 

Sustaining strength imparts 
In sorrow's hour. 

Through every scene of life 

His guardian care extends, 
Nor with this fleeting breath 

His kindness ends. 

For when the fluttering pulse 

And closing eye, 
In the last mortal hour, 

Call man to die, 

If in this lower sphere 

He has performed his part, 
Fulfilled his Maker's will 

With single heart, 

He bears his spirit hence 

To realms above, 
Where it will flourish in the beams 

Of everlasting love. 



124 ON THE ANNIVERSARY OF MY BIRTHDAY. 

In his protecting care 

May I confide, 
And all my future life 

O, may he deign to guide ! 



m 



ON THE DEATH OF AN INFANT. 



Sweet babe ! too quickly snatched from our em- 
brace, 

O, is indeed thy gentle spirit flown? 
O, linger yet with us a short, short space ! 

'T is vain ! so soon thou hasten 'st to be gone. 

Whither, bright cherub, hast thou winged thy flight, 
And left us all so soon that flight to mourn? 

While yet we gaze, torn from our aching sight, 
Departed, never, never to return. 

What fairy visions Hope's swift pencil drew 
Of future joys thy presence was to bring ! 

Thou earnest, but, ere yet our welcome knew, 
To brighter worlds soared, on a seraph's wing. 



126 ON THE DEATH OF AN INFANT. 

Yes, for ourselves we yet may heave the sigh; 

O, not for thee ! who bade adieu to, earth 
So early, called to yon bright sphere on high, 

An angel from the moment of thy birth. 

Brightly arrayed in innocence divine, 

And spotless robes, O, could we see thee now ! 

Great as our loss, we never should repine, 
Nor one fond wish recall thee here below. 



127 



HOPE. 



What is Hope? The sages tell us 
'T is a vision soon destroyed, 

Painting life in glowing colors 
Never meant to be enjoyed, 

Oft deceiving careless youth 

With many an idle, vain presage, 

Maturer years still flattering on, 
Till disappointed by old age. 

Yet, if hope smooths 
The rugged path of life. 

And kindly soothes 
Woes else 5 t were hard to bear, 
Successfully opposes fell despair, 



128 HOPE. 

And conquers in the strife, 
O, may hope attend us still, 
Support us under every ill ! 

But know, hope founded on the Rock 
Of ages calmly meets the shock 
Of nature, brightly gilds the tomb, 
Nor then deceives in painting joys to come, 
Exulting, points to brighter worlds on high, 
And with celestial voice instructs us how to die. 



129 



ON THE LETTER 0. 



In gods and in demons 't will ever be found, 
Wicked men it will shun, but in good men abound, 
Yet on woman attends, as vibration on sound. 
On the surface of ocean its presence you see, 
And 't is always contained in an old hollow tree. 
In hot and cold countries 't is destined to dwell, 
On mountains, in forests, the anchorite's cell. 
It never inhabits the halls of the great, 
But a cottage prefers to grandeur or state. 
With the Pope it however has always remained, 
And in Rome has for centuries past been detained; 
In the Catholic's claims it has openly stood, 
Though in justice it aims at the general good; 
9 



130 ON THE LETTER O. 

It ever has proved the support of the crown, 
In the Hanover line has been always passed down ; 
Our famed London without it would nameless be- 
come, 
And its loss would be nearly as fatal to Rome. 



131 



TO A YOUNG LADY, 

WHO HAD SENT THE WRITER A LOCK OF HER OWN HAIR, 
WITH ONE OF HER LOVER'S. 



I write, dear Eliza, in doleful dismay, 
I have had such a loss, — O, forgive me ! do, pray ! 
The lock, the dear lock! —William's hair! — O, 't is true, 
I have lost it; O, will you forgive me? pray do ! 

Your gift arrived safe, but I searched for in vain 
My other lost treasure, again and again; 
I had hoped the dear relics together to twine, 
But this sweet consolation can never be mine. 

If, however, dear girl, you will try me once more, 
I will guard it as close as a miser his store; 
Send me in your next letter a lock as before. 
Farewell, dear Eliza, believe me to be 
Your sad but affectionate friend, 
F. E. B. 



132 



LINES TO AN OLD LADY, 

ON HER PRESENTING THE WRITER WITH SOME WALL- 
FLOWER ROOTS, WITH THE OBSERVATION, THAT THEY 
WOULD REMIND HER OF HER WHEN SHE WAS REMOVED 
TO A BETTER COUNTRY. 



My dear, my valued and respected friend, 
The flowers I 've planted you so lately gave; 

Deep and luxuriant may their roots descend, 
And winter's rigorous season sfrongly brave. 

And may these fair remembrancers of thee 
In many a future summer brightly bloom, 

And O, may'st thou their annual beauties see, 
And taste the fragrance of their sweet perfume ! 

Yet, if the Power Supreme who decked the earth 
With flowers, and bade the verdant landscape 
glow, — 



LINES TO AN OLD LADY. 133 

To whose creating hand their mutual birth 
Nature and man alike their being owe, — 

Should call thee hence to that eternal home, 
That better country, where thy treasures lie, 

Where spring shall flourish in immortal bloom, 
And time, and age, and pain, and death shall die, 

These fair mementos, grateful to the eye, 
'To memory shall their pleasing aid impart; 
But these frail flowers may wither, fade, and die, — 
Not so thy sweet remembrance in my heart. 

Yes, while they lived they might soothe my regret; 

Their fragrance would recall thy piety; 
Yet think not I can e'er thy worth forget, 

Or need their aid to love thy memory. 



134 



THE THREE AGES OF HUMAN LIFE. 



Childhood, careless age, farewell ! 

Thy scenes have passed away, 
And it makes the heart in ray bosom swell, 
While thus I sing thy parting knell, 

And think of thy joyous day. 

Youth, thou art speeding on thy course, 

And art gliding swiftly by; 
Each hour augments the rapid force 
With which, like a torrent from its source, 

Thy rapid moments fly. 

Age, with the silver locks art thou 
Destined my fate to mark ? 



THE THREE AGES OF HUMAN LIFE. 135 

Cheerless and sad thou seemest now; 
Thy withered cheek and thy wrinkled brow 
Unlovely are and dark. 

Life, thou art ever changing, still 

Fleeting from goal to goal, 
With the stealthy pace of a trickling rill, 
For eternity's boundless sea to fill 

Thy fair, but fragile, bowl. 



136 



THOUGHTS ON A MOONLIGHT NIGHT. 



Mild, effulgent orb of night, 
Gleaming through my window bright, 
How many may, with calm delight, 

This moment gaze on thee ! 
Some chastened child of sorrow's train, 
Perhaps tossing on a bed of pain 
And courting balmy sleep in vain, 

May turn her eyes to thee, 
And in thy softened, soothing ray, 
Inspiring hope as bright, she may 

Thy Maker's goodness see ! 

Haply the lover, far removed 
From her most fondly, truly loved, 
Thy sympathetic beam 



THOUGHTS ON A MOONLIGHT NIGHT. 137 

May hail, recalling joys long fled, 
In memory cherished still, and, led 
By fairy fancy, largely shed 

By thy sweet influence, delightful dream, — 
May see the loved one shed a tear 
For him, may hear her breathe a prayer 
For his return ; and ah ! how dear 

That tear, that prayer, would seem ! 

And Cynthia, ever thy pale ray 
Is dearer than the blaze of day 

To minds of thoughtful mould; 
While lesser fires, a numerous train, 
Around thee glitter, banish vain, 

And glorious thoughts unfold. 



138 



LINES TO , 

A BEAUTIFUL, BUT VAIN, YOUNG LADY. 



Your request, my dear girl, is a delicate task; 
Pray what would you wish me to say ? let me ask. 
Must I tell you your eyes are of heavenly blue? 
That your face and your features are beautiful, too? 
Must I tell you all this? Nay, more, must I say 
These serve but your sweetness and sense to dis- 
play ? 
No ! a flatterer might tell you all this, but a friend, 
Believe me, will ne'er to such meanness descend. 

A beautiful person, we constantly find, 
Is not always adorned by a beautiful mind ; 
And though a fair face admiration excite, 
The effect it produces is transient and slight; 



LINES TO . 139 

Disappointed, we turn with contempt and disdain 
From a form, though angelic, if heartless and vain; 
But if mind and if heart correspond with the face. 
To love and esteem admiration gives place; 
'T is the mind which alone can illumine the whole; 
Beauty attracts the sight, but sweetness wins the 
soul. 



140 



LIFE 



O checkered life ! though numerous ills 

Traverse thy varied scene. 
Still virtue's bright, exhaustless store 

Casts her fair hues between. 

The high resolve, the noble glow, 

Of energetic youth, 
The generous heart, the open brow, 

Of unsuspecting truth, — 

What though if disappointment chill 
And check that generous glow, 



LIFE. 141 

If falsehood and deceit too soon 
Oft cloud the open brow? 

Still, though experience sees dismayed 

The frightful hues of vice, 
Tried steadfast virtue to behold 

Is surely worth the price. 

Virtue presents an angel's mien, 

Whatever garb she wears, — 
In prince or peasant, court or cot, 

Joy, sorrow, smiles, or tears. 

In youth 't is lovely, lovelier still 

When sorrow dims the page ; 
Reverence and love at once it claims 

When dignified by age. 

To feel, to suffer, yet o'ercome, 

The adverse shafts of fate, 
And gratefully enjoy the good 

We find in every state, — 



142 LIFE. 

Virtue like this gives life true zest, 
Wards evil powerless by, 

Brings joy and peace to every breast, 
And proves its source on high. 



143 



ON POETRY. 



Spirit of poetry, 't is thine 

To soothe, exalt us, and refine; 

Yet 't is not when thy numbers chime, 

Like tinkling bells, in changeless rhyme, 

Unmeaning words, though sweet their sound, ■ 

'T is not by these thy temple 's crowned ! 

No ! sentiments that easy flow, 

Enriched by genuine feeling's glow, 

Or sparkling with wit's vivid fire, 

Or, boldly daring to aspire 

On nobler wings and loftier, verse 

To higher themes of virtue nurse, 

With Milton following, soaring fancy's flight, 

Singing of chaos and eternal night, — 



144 ON POETRY. 

Of rebel angels cast from heaven's high state, — 
Of bliss, to the utmost verge of hell's most dread- 
ful fate, — 
Of man's creation, happiness, and fall, 
Through Satan, the dire enemy of all, 
Yet most himself since when he vainly thought 
To ruin what the Godhead latest wrought; — 
His vile design against Heaven's favorite, man, 
Was overruled by that amazing plan 
Which ages after was fulfilled on earth 
In the glad tidings of the Saviour's birth ! 
And, while transcendent mercy was extolled, 
The guilt on Satan's head was recompensed ten- 
fold;— 
Or, with immortal Young, in night's still silent 

reign, 
By reason's steady light pursue a train 
Of solemn thought, which nature's sleep in- 
spires, 
And, gazing upwards at those glorious fires, 
In azure hung by Him whose single might 
At first divided darkness from the light, 



ON POETRY. 145 

Exclaim, adoring his most awful state, — 

"A Godhead truly reigns ; and, O, that God how 

great ! " 
If these, sweet syren, animate thy lays, 
They weave for thee a wreath of never-fading bays. 



10 



146 



SIBYLLINE CARDS. 



i. 

A limb of the law awaits you, my dear; 
Citations and briefs without number appear; 
How enviable is indeed your fate, — 
An upright lawyer, pillar of the state ! 

ii. 
Ah ! rail not at woman ; in vain you declare 
Your utter indifference, and laugh at the fair; 
You pretend to despise what you cannot obtain, 
And scoffers deserve what they meet with, — disdain. 
Persevere in this folly, and know that your fate 
Will be bitter repentance, — repentance too late. 



SIBYLLINE CARDS. 147 

III. 

To one thing constant never 

The sport of beauty's power, 
Thy vows deceitful ever, 

And varying with the hour. 
For every vow you 've broken, 

For every heart betrayed, 
For each forgotten token, 

Your doom, till now delayed, 
Shall be in turn to love in vain, 

And ne'er know happiness again. 

IV. 

Favored mortal, know for thee 
A happy lot the Fates decree; 
Grateful learn thy destiny: 
Love and friendship's hallowed rays 
Brightly gild thy future days. 

v. 
That marriage is a lottery, every one cries ; 
How happy, then, is he who draws a prize ! 



148 SIBYLLINE CARDS. 

Connubial bliss, the purest earth can know, 
From whence our first and best affections flow, — 
This bliss shall soon be thine. To name the fair 
Is useless, — for of that you 're well aware. 



149 



ON THE MIRACLE AT MOUNT HOREB. 



" Behold, I will stand before thee there upon the rock in 
Horeb ; and thou shalt smite the rock, and there shall come 
water out of it, that the people may drink." — Exodus xvii. 6. 



Great is the Lord, and great his power ! 

His mercy great, — mighty to save ! 
On Horeb did his glory shine, 

Gushed from the rock the rolling wave. 
At his divine, omnipotent command, 

His rod the prophet took, — 
O, wondrous act of the Almighty's hand ! — 

Forth issued from the flint a bubbling brook; 
Nature the God of nature's fiat hears; 
What once seemed adamant, a stream appears. 



150 ON THE MIRACLE AT MOUNT HOREB. 

His chosen people faint with thirst, 

A dreadful, lingering death in view; 
Exhausted in the wilderness, 

Their Maker saw, and pitied too. 
Anguish, and pain, and deep despair 

Seized every tortured soul. 
" Ye are the objects of my tenderest care; 

Fear not, my people ! — be ye whole ! 
Smite thou the rock ! " Jehovah said. 

A river flowed, as Moses prompt obeyed. 

Type of that spiritual Rock 

Which after ages should behold, 
From whence a stream should issue forth, 

Refreshing the chief Shepherd's fold, 
That Rock was Christ, — that saving stream 

Was life, and health, and peace, 
Which all his church derive from him; — 

That stream shall never cease. 
" Smite thou the Rock," Jehovah said, 
And Pilate all unconsciously obeyed. 



151 



LINES TO AN OLD SCHOOL-FELLOW. 



My dearest Elizabeth, at your desire 

I exert my poetical vein, 
And if not the Muses, let friendship inspire, 
Although not a spark of the radiant fire 

Of genius embellish the strain. 

We 've been children together, — now childhood is 
past; 

The spring-time, the dawn of our years, 
'T is gone ! and our summer will vanish as fast ; 
O, let us remember that youth will not last, 

Nor sigh when grave autumn appears ! 



152 LINES TO AN OLD SCHOOL-FELLOW. 

We 've been school-fellows, playmates, companions, 
and friends; 
May time our affection improve ! 
May we rival each other in laudable ends, 
While, matured by experience, our judgment com- 
mends 
Our early attachment and love ! 

Companions are numerous, friends are but rare, 

True friendship but seldom is found; 
'T is a delicate plant, must be cherished with care, 
Requires showers and sunshine, warm soil and pure 
air, 
While fenced and well guarded around. 

The soft tear in sorrow, the bright smile in joy, 

True friendship must ever bestow; 
Sincerity pure and unmixed with alloy, 
While firmness must guard, lest the cold world 
destroy 

The heartfelt, ennobling glow. 



LINES TO AN OLD SCHOOL-FELLOW. 153 

The cold world, — ah ! yes, my dear girl, 't is in- 
deed 
Cold, heartless, and dangerous, too; 
From its snares and temptations, O, may we be 

freed ! 
Its frowns may we brave, with heaven for our 
meed, 
When we bid it for ever adieu. 



154 



TO A FRIEND ON HER BIRTHDAY, 



BEING CHRISTMAS DAY. 



Again, dear girl, with love sincere, 
Your constant bard her carol sings, 

Whilst another varying year 

The merry season Christmas brings. 

Is there a heart which does not beat, 
And throb with feelings of delight, 

When child and parent joyful meet, 
And friends and families unite ? 

When sparkling eyes beam with delight, 
And mirth and happiness prevail, 

Is there a heart which such a sight 
To warm and animate can fail ? 



TO A FRIEND ON HER BIRTHDAY. 155 

Pleasures as innocent as pure, 

Yet bright and lovely though they be, 

They only a brief space endure, 
But Christmas gave a friend to me. 

Hail ! precious gift, of value rare, 
What gold could never, never buy. 

What gem with friendship can compare ? 
What boundless treasures with it vie ? 

Celestial plant, removed a time, 
It buds and blossoms for the skies, 

Transplanted to its native clime, 
Matured in loveliness to rise. 



THE END. 









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